Daisies
by Zighana
Summary: Dawn and Brandon run away to New York City to get away from it all. Language, violence, sexual themes, and dark humor. You've been warned! Updated Chapter 2!
1. Chapter 1

**Daisies**

_ Dawn and Brandon run away together to New York City to escape their troubles. (Dawn/Brandon)_

_"You comin'?"_

Dawn blinks back to reality. There is Brandon, so close to her she could taste the sweat from his lips. Here they were, in Brandon's filthy room, about to make huge decisions.

Dawn wants to be his girlfriend; Brandon wants to run away before he's shipped off to military school. Two completely different issues that somehow seem to fit together, like convoluted puzzle pieces. Now Dawn is at the crossroads; to stay or to go.

Dawn doesn't know what to do; the rational part of her is aware of the consequences of leaving with him. Knowing what her parents told her about runaways, they won't make it far. With any luck, they would reach a landmark before they could call it quits and head back home. If they can survive homelessness, possible sickness, and drugs, that is. Dawn imagines sleeping on a park bench while Brandon pick pockets a newlywed couple for money. She imagines them on the street, begging for change and food. She imagines getting strung out in the alleyway with no one rushing to help her when she passes out. Worst case scenario, they could be dead in a week and no one would even care or notice, especially her own parents. The thought depresses her.

But the other part of her is reminded of her dreary existence: the teasing, the humiliation, the psychological mind-fuckery Lolita inflicted on her, the loss of a good friend from one awful word. The broken heart from a guy who will never love her, the isolation from her self absorbed parents. That spoiled little brat that has the audacity to call itself her little sister. She finds no valuable reason to stay. The whole world hates her, her parents don't care at all about her, and no matter what she does, she screws up and make a situation worse for herself than it should be. She lost her clubhouse, lost her best friend, and she just might lose the only boy who took interest in her.

If she left right now, who would honestly care, or even notice? Her parents are too wrapped up in her baby sister going missing, and her brother is too invested in his college career. And when she's gone, she won't have to face those awful kids and their disgusting behaviors.

_Wiener dog._

_Ugly._

_Dog Face._

_Lesbo._

_Cunt._

Cruel words etched into her locker.

Cruel words hurled at her as she sits down to eat her lunch.

The spitballs thrown into her hair.

The late-night crying sessions when the teasing got too much.

She wanted to get away from it all.

"You comin'?" Brandon repeats, louder than before.

"Don't go," Dawn replies, reaching to grab his hand. He yanks it away.

"I have to. Now you comin' or not, asshole?"

She looks back at him. His normally harsh eyes soften, as if pleading with her to go. Despite his mean behavior, he still wants her there. He still wants her by his side. He still likes her. He is the first and possibly the only boy who will ever like her. The only one who understands.

Dawn swallows and takes a deep breath. She looks him in the eye and smiles.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is a fanfic from the film Welcome to the Dollhouse. It's an Alternative Universe to when {spoilers}. I love this film, and I sort of wanted Dawn-centric fan fics because dammit she's earned it! Warning: sex themes, drugs, violence, and strong language may occur. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Slurpee

Diary

The two traveled in silence, both unsure of where to go or what to do next. Or rather, Brandon knew but didn't want to say anything. Dawn merely rolled her bike alongside her as they walked far from his house.

Every five minutes Dawn looked back, just to make sure it's happening, that this runaway scheme is real. When that dilapidated house became a speck on the horizon, part of her wanted to turn back. She fears his father would hunt them down in his pickup truck and drag Brandon to military school, kicking and screaming while Dawn watches. Does Mr. McCarthy even know they're gone? Does he even care? She doesn't want to think about it too much; it depresses her.

She instead looks to Brandon, who's walking like he has a plan, like he has something to prove. He turns to face her, his expression unreadable as he asks,

"Want to go grab a Slurpee?"

The 7-Eleven was a sorry excuse for an establishment: dingy walls, scratched up windows, and a cockroach skittering here and there. And don't even get Dawn started on the bathroom. But Brandon waded through the disgust and whistled at the store clerk. The man was in his late 40s early 50s, with a terrible dental plan.

"Hey, Brandon. How's my favorite fuck-up doing today?"

"Splendid. I want two large Slurpees." He smirked. Dawn watches as he digs through his pocket and salvages seven dollars and some change. He slides it to the clerk who then points to the Slurpee machine to their right.

The Slurpee machine was slightly grimy, but well-maintained. Brandon grabs the cups and slides them under the flavors. Dawn was going to tell him she wanted cherry, but instead he poured blue raspberry into her cup and slid it to her. He got cherry.

They then walked out on the curb and drank their treats in silence. Dawn then spoke.

"What are we going to do?"

"Fuck if I know. There's a bus that could take us there. We could go tonight, or tomorrow morning if you feel like it. Maybe then you could go grab your stuff."

"My stuff?" Her eyes grew big like saucers. The realization sets in and there's fear in her gut. As she's mulling it over, Brandon continues to talk.

She's running away.

She's running away.

She's running away…

"…And then we can stay at a motel and go sight seeing…"

She's finally going to leave this place behind…

"…find jobs as waiters or mechanics. I'm real good with cars…"

She can say goodbye to her family for good…

"…as long as you're by my side…"

She and Brandon have no one but themselves now. Them against the world…

"…Get your shit tonight."

She snaps back to reality.

Brandon looks at her in earnest, expecting an answer. She nods her head.

"I-I-I'll go packing tonight." She answers, turning back to her melted drink. Brandon, liking the answer, wraps his arm around her shoulder.

"Us against the world." He says with conviction.

"Us against the world." Dawn repeats.

Though she's not as confident in her answer as he is.

* * *

><p>That night, Dawn manages to sneak back into her home with the key she snuck under the doormat for emergencies. She tip-toes up the steps, taking care to check her surroundings. For all she knew, the cops could be lurking and it'd be one messy explanation to tell them if they caught her.<p>

She tried to be stealthy; genetics are her enemy. Her big feet and clumsy body lead to many stubbed toes, broken vases, and crooked furniture from her bumping into it. After miraculously making her way upstairs, she makes it to her bedroom.

She could only scoff at her bedroom; it became a shrine devoted to Missy ever since she was kidnapped. Dawn could hardly find any of her stuff anymore; there's no trace she ever lived in this room. They must've moved her stuff downstairs, it seems.

Sighing with frustration, she opens Missy's treasure chest and throws out her dolls and finds her most valued possession; her diary.

Her diary, originally a gift for Missy, is her most valued possession. She could be herself and not be judged for it. And it was safe from prying eyes, guarded with lock and key that only she has access to, no matter how hard Missy or her parents tried to find it. The key was stashed in the body of one of Missy's dolls.

The one Dawn decapitated.

Grabbing the doll and shaking it, she smiled in relief that the shiny key slid out its neck untouched. She takes the key and the book and crams it into her knapsack. Looking around, an evil thought popped into her head.

She leaves the Wiener residence hours later with a sense of peace and calmness. Her knapsack full of necessities and her vendetta complete, she meets Brandon at the corner and they start walking.

"You good?" Brandon asks.

"I'm good." She answers, walking with her head held high.

She never looked happier.

* * *

><p>The next morning Mrs. Wiener woke up. She yawned, she stretched, she took the rollers out her hair and kissed her ailing husband of 20 years. She walks into Missy's room for her ritual grieving process, and lets out a blood curdling scream.<p>

Missy's room had been ransacked: Her comforter set, her dolls, her books, her clothes, her pictures, that 5-inch portrait of her in her bright pink tutu…

Gone.

A psychopath had entered her house and stolen Missy's possessions! Had it been her kidnapper?

She runs downstairs.

What she sees is even more bizarre.

Dolls. Missy's dolls. Strung up on the walls by yarn, nude. There's a doll crammed into the toaster, melting and burning as its synthetic hair is on fire. There's one ripped apart and its torso is sticking out the chocolate cake, crotch up. Its head is found slowly melting as it swims in a pot of hot coffee.

Even stranger, Missy's pictures are scattered on the ground into an arrow, pointing to the backyard. What she finds shatters her psyche.

Missy's portrait is destroyed. The eyes are gouged out, the face slashed and scrawled over in bright red marker. Her comforter set is torn and ripped, caked in dirt, grass, and dog piss. Surrounding this shrine of horror is the rest of her valuable dolls, mangled into bits and pieces. Missy's clothes are strewn all over the back yard, some buried underneath Mrs. Wiener's precious petunias.

Her garden isn't unscathed: every plant has been pulled from the ground by its roots and trampled on. Years of backbreaking labor and love destroyed. The carnage now mars one of Missy's trademark tutus.

It's too much.

Mrs. Wiener staggers into the living room to lie down only to trip and fall face first into the couch's unforgiving seat cushion. Pulling herself up, she looks at what tripped her.

Another doll.

One who is eerily intact.

She picks it up, only for the head to fall off and a tiny piece of paper stick out. Pulling the paper out, she unfurls it and is greeted with loud blue words.

**FUCK YOU ALL. **

**DAWN.**

She fainted.

From that day on, Mark has paramedics on speed dial.

* * *

><p>"You good?"<p>

Dawn jolts out of her fantasy and faces Brandon. He waits for her at the corner, eyes crossed with worry. Her sack filled with the stuff they need and her diary held tightly, she solemly nods.

"Yeah, I'm good."


End file.
